


No matter what they say, we're heroes

by kenwayallgetalong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dad Clint Barton, F/M, M/M, Mild Nat/T'Challa, Nat to the rescue, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Team Cap - Freeform, The Raft Prison (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7590619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwayallgetalong/pseuds/kenwayallgetalong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Civil War, breakout from the Raft. Title taken from The Great Escape by Woodkid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No matter what they say, we're heroes

**Author's Note:**

> ~*~ represents a POV change.

Steve leant against the desk, sketching Bucky in his cryo sleep, while scientists dashed around, constantly tinkering and fiddling with his friend. He caught snatches of conversation as they ran past.

“-increased neural activity when-“

“-an entire arm? Far too expensive, use alloys or-“

“See? There. When we stimulate-“

“How can we know these are-“

“-so he’s clearly-“

“Captain Rogers.” T’Challa’s deep voice cut through the babble, and all activity paused to look at the King of Wakanda standing in the doorway.

He beckoned. “Please.” He said, indicating the doorway.

-

They strolled out onto the facility’s roof, surrounded by the lush Wakandan jungle. “I thought you could use some air.” He said, leading Steve to the terrace, leaning casually against it. Steve followed.

“Thank you.” He said. “For everything. This can’t have exactly made you popular with the UN.” T’Challa scoffed. “Politicians. They can spin their fancy words, but they don’t hesitate to put other people’s lives on the line to accomplish their own agendas. If it comes to it,” he continued. “And Wakanda is forced to go to war, I will not hide while others die in my place.”

Steve remembered the words he’d said long ago, in a different body, to a different Bucky: _“There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do anything less than them.”_ He chuckled slightly to himself.

T’Challa raised an eyebrow slightly, inviting an answer. “I said something similar once, back before…” Steve trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his body. T’Challa smiled. “I feel almost bad for trying to kill your friend.” He admitted. “Almost.” He added.

He tipped his head back, looking up at the clear Wakandan sky above them, then said, almost to himself; “I only hope I can do his memory justice.” _T’Chaka_.

“I’m sorry about your father.” T’Challa stiffened slightly, but Steve continued. “He’d be proud.” He said quietly. T’Challa nodded tightly.

“Was he a Panther too?” Steve asked. His curiosity had been burning since their brief exchange after his capture. T’Challa nodded. “Every new ruler of Wakanda is expected to take up the mantle, but it is not given.” He turned, looking at Steve. “It must be earned. Like your shield.”

Steve half smiled. “Think I gave that up.” He admitted, resting his hands on the terrace and looking out over the jungle. “Won’t be getting it back for a while.” T’Challa chuckled. “You’re in the land of vibranium, Captain Rogers.” He said, indicating their surroundings. “You need only ask.” Steve smiled at that. “Thank you.” He said.

They remained on the terrace for a while, a comfortable silence stretching between them, which was suddenly broken as Steve heard quick footsteps approaching.

They both turned as a young woman approached, a spear slung across her back, her hair shaven. He’d seen them around before.

The Dora Milaje. T’Challa’s personal bodyguards.

She quickly kneeled before him, and nodded to Steve, before quickly speaking in Wakandan with T’Challa. T’Challa’s brow furrowed as she spoke, and Steve only recognised one word in the quick tirade of Wakandan: _Romanoff_.

Natasha was here.

“Where is she?” Steve demanded as the woman left. T’Challa sighed.

“She was found a mile outside of the facility. They believe she was trying to find it on Stark’s behalf.”

“I doubt that.” Steve said. “She wouldn’t have let herself be found if that was the case.”

“Then why is she here?” T’Challa pressed.

-

They found Natasha in a white, featureless room in the facility. She smiled slightly as they entered, taking her boots off the table in front of her. Two Dora Milaje flanked her from behind.

T’Challa quickly dismissed them, and was about to speak, when Steve crossed the room and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Thank you.” He whispered against her hair. She hugged him back, and he felt her smile against his chest.

T’Challa coughed slightly, and they stepped back. “T’Challa.” Natasha purred.

Steve’s head practically whipped around as he looked at her. That was a voice few had heard and lived. Natasha smiled coyly back at Steve, then returned to the table.

“Miss Romanoff.” T’Challa responded, smiling broadly. “It is good to see you in friendlier circumstances.”

“But it might have been better if you’d called.” Steve finished, sitting down opposite her. Natasha shook her head. “They would’ve traced it; Ross is very keen to get his hands on you guys. Took me a week to lose my tails and get here.”

“Can’t blame him.” Steve muttered.

“So why are you here?” T’Challa pressed, leaning forward slightly. “They’re holding Clint, Sam, and Wanda in a prison called the Raft. Lang’s there too. It’s in the middle of the Atlantic.” Natasha said.

Steve leant back in his chair. “And you want us to break them out.”

“Ross wanted us to sign the Accords and bring in Bucky. Alright. Clint, Sam, Wanda, even Lang, they had no part in that.” Natasha said simply.

Steve nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to get them out.” He said. “It’s my fault they’re in there. I owe them that much.”

He glanced over at T’Challa. “You got a chopper?” he asked. T’Challa smiled. “A fleet.” He answered.

He turned back to Natasha. “When can we leave?” T’Challa pressed.

She shrugged. “Right now. Though we probably need to stop off in San Francisco first.”

~*~

Hope Van Dyne considered herself a reasonable, sensible person.

Putting up with her father’s lies for years, working tirelessly for him, then Darren Cross, even managing to deal with Scott goddamn Lang.

Now, her and her father were in a better place than they’d been in years, she was finally doing something that mattered as the Wasp, and Scott was a somewhat reasonable boyfriend.

_It wasn’t bad_ , she reflected, as she pummelled the punching bag, trying to cover the oppressive silence that blanketed the house.

Despite all his idiocy, Scott was good for some conversation, and the house had been quiet without him practically bouncing off the walls all hours of the day. She struck the bag with a final roundhouse kick, then stopped abruptly, breathing hard, listening to the creak of the chain as the bag swung.

She turned and picked up a towel, wiping the sheen of sweat off her skin as she ascended the stairs to the kitchen, checking her phone with her free hand.

The usual messages from the reforming board of Pymtech, and a torrent from Luis, as there had been for the last few days, asking when Scott would be back. One unfamiliar number, with the ominous text simply reading: CALL ASAP.

Shrugging, she brought up the message and tapped ‘call’. The other person picked up after the second ring. “Hope Van Dyne?” they asked quickly. “Yeah.” She confirmed, running a glass of water.

“Who’s this?” There was a slight pause. “Steve Rogers.” Hope stood, stunned, her water forgotten. “Captain Rogers?” she asked, incredulous. “Yeah.” He admitted, sheepishly. “You know Scott Lang?” he asked.

_Oh god._

_Captain America had just asked about her boyfriend._

“Yeah…” she admitted slowly.

~*~

Hank Pym was sitting on the couch, flicking through the reports from Leipzig, and grimacing when he saw Stark’s red and gold suit.

_Like father, like son_.

Hope suddenly burst in, dressed in jeans and a tank top, a duffel bag held in her hand. “Gotta go.” She said quickly. “Where?” Hank asked, his eyebrows knitting together in suspicion.

Hope sighed. “Scott decided to go against the entire United Nations and got himself arrested with your suit. I’m going to break him out. Call Luis if you need anything.”

“He _what_?”

~*~

Natasha switched the jet over to autopilot and spun around in her chair, observing the crew she was bringing to break her friends out of prison.

T’Challa was pacing carefully, Steve was poring over plans of the Raft she had managed to hack from Stark’s mainframe, and Hope was busy pulling on her suit, which Natasha was simultaneously awed and terrified of. The wings settling against her back, she pulled a helmet on, but left her face free.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, startling the occupants of the plane.

Steve looked over to Natasha for guidance, and she sighed, and recounted the only plan she had managed to formulate since she’d left Tony at the Avengers facility, wondering why _Captain Americ_ a was looking to her for guidance.

“Alright.” She began, pulling down a screen and bringing up a hologram of the Raft. “I need you two,” she said, pointing to Steve and T’Challa “To pretend to be captured.”

“Loving it so far.” Steve muttered. She glared at him. “I’m betting they’ll put you with the others, so while they’re marching you down there,” she continued, pointing out the location of the cells, “I’ll go to central controls, kill the lights, and unlock the cells.”

“What about me?” Hope asked. “You need to get their gear.” Natasha replied, pointing at another location. “Get in, shrink it, get it to them.”

“Then we’re eight escapees in the most heavily fortified prison on Earth.” Steve finished.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Natasha admitted. “You two, sit down, and put these on.” She said, tossing them each a set of heavy metal handcuffs.

“Van Dyne, get ready to shrink.” She said, as Hope reached down and grabbed the crate of ants she’d brought with her.

-

Natasha marched Steve and T’Challa down the ramp of the jet, her hands resting on the Glocks at her sides.

A squad of Marines jogged over, rifles held ready. “Nice work, Agent Romanoff.” The leader said.

“Their gear’s in the jet.” She said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder and standing off to the left of the jet as two soldiers went inside, the remaining four took Steve and T’Challa off, and she tried to mask the small line of ants crawling down the ramp and past her, into the vents of the Raft.

“We’re in.” Hope’s voice said over the comms. Satisfied, Natasha left, heading directly for central control.

~*~

Hope flew through the inner workings of the Raft, the ants following swiftly after, following the route mapped out by her helmet. She slipped through a vent in the floor, the ants waiting below.

Two Marines were already in the room, stowing the gear. Silently flying up, she quickly identified the other’s gear, as the conversation rumbled above her.

“Doesn’t Captain America have a shield?” one of them asked as they put Steve’s gear in a drawer, labeling it S.R.

“Why, you wanna picture with it?” the other said, tossing T’Challa’s gear in a draw and slugging the other in the shoulder as they turned to leave. “Ross would have your head.”

As soon as they left, Hope grew to normal size, and quickly began sorting through the gear, placing Steve’s uniform, T’Challa’s armour, and everything else on the floor, while the ants shrunk each item and slipped back into the vents with them.

She tapped her earpiece. “Gear secure and en route.” She said.

~*~

Steve and T’Challa were cuffed and flanked from all sides by Marines as they walked through the Raft. Just as they reached another door, and the leader stepped forward, the lights cut out. “What the hell?” one of them growled.

Without bothering to wait for Rogers’ cue, T’Challa instantly stepped forward and cracked the Marine in front over the head with his heavy cuffs. The others turned towards the noise, just as Steve suddenly barreled into them.

Ducking under an electric baton, T’Challa stood, driving his head into its wielder’s stomach, then breaking his cuffs, and bringing down the remaining guards with a quick flurry of his fists and feet.

He brought the last guard down, just as he turned, and saw Rogers bring his last man down with a flying knee to the chest, driving him into the wall, and the door hissed open, revealing the Avengers, all in their cells, peering into the darkness.

~*~

Steve walked up to the cells, out of the darkness, smirking slightly as he saw Sam turn, confused.

“Finally.” Sam sighed. “We’ve been going crazy in here. I mean, crazy.” The lights flicked back on, just as Clint started up a defense.

“Hey birdbrain, you think Marvin Gaye is better than Springsteen, that’s fine, let’s just have the conversation somewhere that isn’t a supermax prison.”

“Did you seriously just call me birdbrain, _Hawk_ eye?”

“Hey Cap.” Lang smiled from his cell, tossing him a lazy salute. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass on the Avenging.”

On the other side of the room, Wanda stood weakly, walking up to the glass. Seeing her, Steve immediately rushed over, leaving T’Challa to get the others out.

“Hey.” She said weakly, as the door slid open. “Hey.” Steve managed, taking in her form. While the others had been given somewhat ill-fitting uniforms, Wanda had been stuffed into a straitjacket, with a taser collar around her neck, which had thankfully, popped open.

She gently prised it off and let it fall to the floor, then rolled her neck around and stretched. “How you doing?’ Steve said softly, undoing her restraints and freeing her arms .

Wanda looked rough; she had huge dark circles under her eyes, and her hair hung greasy and lank around her shoulders. However, there was still a sliver of scarlet in her eyes. “Better now.” She said resolutely, twitching her fingers and letting a whisper of scarlet move between them. “The collar wouldn’t let me…” she murmured.

“It’s ok.” Steve said gently, resting a hand on her arm. “We’re getting outta here.”

“Uh, yeah, question about that, how?” Lang asked from across the room, raising his hand. “I don’t exactly fancy my odds in these blue pyjamas.”

As if on cue, their gear appeared in front of them, as did Hope, clad in her Wasp getup. Scott’s face immediately brightened, then darkened again as Hope hit him squarely in the face. “We will discuss this at home.” She hissed.

Lang needed no further prompting, and suited up, Sam already pulling his wingpack on, and Clint holding his bow reverently, before nocking an arrow and holding it loosely.

“Weren’t we fighting this guy?” he asked, nodding towards T’Challa, who silently kept lookout by the door.

“Change of plan.” Steve said tightly. “Let’s move.”

-

Despite the maximum security of the Raft, it was nowhere near prepared for a mass breakout facilitated by someone on the inside, especially when the escapees and their rescuers made up eight Avengers.

Scott and Hope took the lead, picking apart traps the others couldn’t see coming. T’Challa and Sam ran side by side, with Steve and Wanda just behind, and Clint watching their six.

As they ran towards the helipad, a group of Marines converged on them. Sam and T’Challa immediately threw themselves into the thick of it, while Scott and Hope rained unseen blows on their attackers.

They moved on, Clint quickly hissing to Steve as they went. He dropped back slightly. “Keep an eye on Wanda.” The archer muttered. “After that restraint she’s not ready to move anything big just yet.”

“Got it.” Steve confirmed, turning to keep going. Clint caught his arm. “I mean it, Cap.” He growled, his voice low. “Bucky’s your mission; she’s mine.”

Steve looked into the archer’s steely grey eyes, and his words from Leipzig resonated with him again: _I owe a debt_.

_Pietro_.

Steve nodded firmly. “I promise.” He said. Clint treated her like a second daughter (or at least, a favourite niece and he was her cool uncle).

He’d tear through the entire Iron Legion to protect her.

-

They made it to the helipad, the jet rising up, as Natasha slid out of an air vent to join them. “Hey.” She said brusquely, turning to Clint. “This makes it three for two.” She grinned as they ran to the pilot’s seats.

“You cannot still be holding Alcatraz over me.” Clint groaned as he jammed a headset on.

“Rescues?” Steve guessed as he stood behind them, hands hooked into the straps above. Natasha favoured him with a quick grin over her shoulder. “That goes into the hundreds, this is just for the big prisons.”

“Technically, the Gulag is a big prison. Just not a recently used one.” Clint countered as the jet began to lift off.

Steve’s eyes tracked the hangar below as the jet rose up into the stormy sky. “12 tangoes.” He said, pointing. “Southwest entrance.” Sure enough, another group of Marines was charging in, at least two of them holding Javelin missile launchers.

“Nat?” Clint said, handing her the controls as he grabbed his bow and hit the cargo door release, nocking an arrow as he crouched on the edge. Sam joined him, bringing up Redwing to pivot into position. “I got flares.” He said as Clint carefully aimed.

A sudden crack rang out, and Clint fell back, blood already gushing from the wound in his arm from the sniper below. “Dammit.” He cursed.

At the same moment, Steve heard the whine of the bay doors above them as they started to close, just as he heard the whoosh of a missile from below.

Then everything happened at once.

Nat yelled for them to hang on from the front as she tilted the jet to the side to fit through the narrowing gap, Steve and T’Challa both lunged to grab Sam and Clint from the cargo bay door, and Steve noticed a streak of scarlet as Wanda ran past him and leapt out of the jet.

“Wanda!” he screamed at the same time as Clint.

~*~

It felt almost blessed, to feel the scarlet crawling over her body and around her again, even after mere days of losing it.

Before she’d learned to control it, it had been painful, and constant, like a harsh sunbeam shining directly into her eyes. After learning though, it was like the ebb and flow of the ocean.

Surrounding her.

Enveloping her.

She channeled all of her wasted energy and anger from the past few weeks, all of her grief from the fucking Lagos mission, all the way up to Vision’s pitying, _pathetic_ glance as they locked them up in the Raft, and the nothingness from then until the collar fell away, bringing her world of scarlet back in a brilliant, overwhelming rush.

She hovered just below the jet, pulses of scarlet suspending her, as the world seemed to move in slow motion.

Above her, the doors moved like glaciers as she lazily raised a hand and immobilized them in place, gears screaming in protest.

Below, the Javelin missile sluggishly rushed up to meet her, an angry black firework of rage.

She pushed down with her other hand, pushing any other energy she could expend into it. The missile exploded as it hit the wave of scarlet, but she held it back, forcing it back down into the Raft, even as she felt a trickle of blood from her nose.

Before, in Lagos, and even before that, any explosion she shut down with the smallest possible collateral damage, containing the rage of steel and fire.

_Not now_.

She forced it back down into the Raft, back into her hated prison, then shot back up, letting the doors slam back together impossibly quickly as the flames engulfed the hangar below.

~*~

The jet righted itself as they made it clear of the bay doors, the cargo bay door still hanging open like a slack jaw, Steve and Clint still slumped at the edge of it, staring out over the Atlantic ocean, until Wanda soared up in front of them, lightly touching down on the lip of the door and walking calmly in as if she’d just stepped off a bus, though Steve still noticed the slight halter in her step as she put out a hand to steady herself.

“I’m fine.” She said, waving them off, leaning against the cool dark metal, wiping a line of blood from her nose away with her sleeve.

“Just…” she waved vaguely. “Drained. Haven’t had to…” she slurred, her eyes rolling back into her skull as she collapsed to the floor.

Steve was immediately at her side, checking her pulse while Clint scoffed, pillowing her head under his quiver, and lifting her feet up.

“She just passed out, Cap. Easy to expect. She hasn’t had to use that much for a while.” He glanced up, realising the entire hold of the plane was staring at him.

“Anyone got any water?”

-

They landed back in Wakanda at night, the cities shining in the distance as they touched down in the jungle.

While the others were sent off to rooms to shower and sleep, Steve returned to Bucky’s lab, empty of its usual torrent of labcoats at this hour. He pulled a chair up in front of the cryo chamber and sat down, sighing, and looked up at Bucky.

“We got the others out, Buck. We freed them.” He said quietly. “I know you didn’t have a chance to meet them properly, but you’d like them. Clint, the guy with the bow and arrow.” Bucky remained, lying motionless in his sleep, his head tipped back slightly.

“Two idiot snipers who don’t know when to quit."

"And Wanda’s great too. Reminds me of Becca.” He confessed. The scientists had told him that Bucky was unreachable in his sleep, but he still tried.

Speaking to him whenever he could, and hoping he’d wake up and remember.

“Jesus, Buck.” He whispered under his breath. “I got us into a goddamn mess, didn’t I? We’re on the run. And I don’t know when we’ll be able to go back to normal.” He chuckled darkly to himself.

“Did we ever have a normal, Buck?” He stayed there for a while, resting his hand against the cool glass of the cryo chamber, until he slowly fell asleep, his head pillowed against his chest, his hand resting on the glass.


End file.
